Fireflies
by hetalia.lover.PruCan.4Evs
Summary: This was a story inspired by Fireflies by Chris Garneau, and a specific video by LolitaHetalia on YouTube. It's 2p!Hetalia and kind of descriptive, so yeah... Please comment, comments make me happy. By the way, it's my first fic so dont be super hard on me please?
1. Oliver

Fireflies

Oliver was crazy, there was no doubt about it. He had never told anyone how he went crazy though. They didn't know he could see daemons, either, let alone talk to them. But he could and that was part of his daily life at the asylum.

No one knew he was actually insane until the day he killed that person. The day that said person refused to give him what he needed most, his drugs. Normally the substances _made_ people crazy, but they hade the opposite effect on ycalmed him, somehow. That's why he freaked when his dealer refused him. He pulled out a knife and stabbed him, so many times that he really couldn't remember. The adrenaline pmping through his blood prevented him from realizing what he was actually doing. He pushed the young man to the ground and ran, still holding the bloody knife. People turned, staring at him with stunned eyes but he kept running. He soon saw his apartment and started sprinting faster than ever before. Taking off up the stairs he skidded to a halt in front of his apartment, the plaque stating that he lived in apartment 2p shining. He grabbed the doorknob and turned it quickly, pushing the door open as he burst into his home. It wasn't anything fancy, and to be truthful, quite girly. Every wall was painted pink or purple, with baby blue accents all over. He had a poster hanging in the kitchen that stated 'Keep calm and have a cupcake' in blue lettering. It was like his safe haven from the rest of the world.

He jogged to his couch, sitting down and pulling his legs to his chest. Now that he'd relaxed a bit, he could hear sirens in the distance. He didn't know why, but a grin spread acroos his face as he thought of what he must've looked like to the civilians that saw him. He looked at his habds and realized that he had never put down the knife. Blood dripped from the blade onto the couch cushion and he smiled. He quietly whispered to himself 'I have definitely gone crazy.' He was pulled out of his trance when a loud knock burst through the silent apartment. "Open up, this is the police," the voice stated. His grin was now huge, and he got up and walked to the door. He opened the door and his eyes lit up. He calmly stated, "I've gone crazy poppet. You really should take me away." He was handcuffed and pulled down the stairs and into the car, grin still wide.

Oliver hadn't been surprised when the jury deemed him medically insane. He got sent to the International Asylum, a place only the craziest of criminals go. He was actually kind of proud of himself that he had been crazy enough to get into such a high-security place. A week after his trial he was being pushed through the doors of this infamous hell-hole. Men and women in long, white coats approached him, grabbing each of his hands. They lead him to his room silently, something that Oliver was upset about. He thought that they would at least explain things to him. He sighed, and continued walking.

They got to a door and only a few of the doctors followed him in. They set him on the bed and started dispersing from the room, save one male doctor with particularly large eyebrows. He turned and threw a pink sweater-vest and white button-up at Oliver, followed by a tan pair of slacks. He slowly stated, "Be ready for dinner by six. Put on those clothes too, please. I hate those terrible orange jumpsuits. Hope you like pink!" "Thanks ol' chap! Nice eyes by the way!" His bright green eyes flashed' and muttered a thanks before stepping outside the room and shutting the door. Oliver heard the bolt slide, followed by the click of a regular door lock.

He looked down at the vest on the bed, smirking. 'Nice,' he thought as he looked around his room. He saw something move in the shadows and got up. He walked over and was startled as a person walked out. He was completely normal-looking, save the horns that twisted up out of his long blonde hair. He had a five o'clock shadow forming and was wearing a lilac shirt and jeans. You could see the outline of a cigarette box in his jeans pocket. Oliver smiled and the man-daemon coughed then spoke. "I'm Francois, bonjour," he said. "Well hello, poppet. May I ask what you are and what you are doing in my room?" Oliver questioned. "Well, I'm a daemon, and I'm here to help your life become bearable in this hell-hole," he stated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Well, my name is Oliver, poppet! I like to give people nicknames, you know, and I have a good one for you! I shall call you my '_firefly_' because you're like my light in this horrid situation! Does that sound good, poppet?" He asked even though you could tell by his tone that it was not a question you could answer no to. "Sure, whatever. Now, you should get ready soon. I should leave before they come to pick you up for dinner, oui?" And with that, Francois disappeared. "Well then", Oliver stated and turned back to the bed, at the bare walls in the tiny room. He walked to the pile of clothes and unzipped the jumpsuit, tossing it to the ground. "Good riddance," he said to no one in particular. He pulled on the white shirt and buttoned it up, leaving the very bottom open. He pulled on the trousers and patted himself down, straightening the creases. He reached onto the mattress and grabbed the sweater vest, yanking it over his head and letting it settle on his form. He sat on his bed and, without anything else to do for a while, rested his head and thought, 'This is going to be a very nice place to live' dozing off and leaving into the word of dreams….


	2. Allan

Fireflies 

A few weeks had passed since his older brother had been enrolled in the asylum. Allan had been devastated. He realized what Oliver had done was very bad and he most likely deserved to be in that horrid place, but that thought was surpassed by one of rage. What had pushed Oliver to do this? What made him go so corrupt as to murder someone? Allan didn't know the answers to these questions, but he was determined to find out. Little did he know that at this very moment, he was just as messed up as his older brother. He just pushed the feeling aside and thought it was because what had happened so recently. That was the case anyway, until recently….

Allan stood as his twin brother Matthieu walked into the home they shared. "What are you doing home so early? Shouldn't you be at work?" Matthieu had been worrying Allan lately. He had started coming home early about a month ago, and it had been happening ever since. "Matthieu," Allan grabbed his twin's shoulder and bore into what were supposed to be his eyes, but instead he saw his own reflection in the large sunglasses that covered his eyes. "Did you lose your job?" They stood in silence for a moment, then Matthieu brought his sunglasses down onto the ridge of his nose so Allan could see his eyes . "Why the hell would I be gone for most of the day, but not work? I wouldn't lose my job because unlike you, I got up off my ass and got a job so we could still live here and eat. Plus, that expensive vegetarian shit you eat would take up any money we would bring in on the side. So no, I did not lose my job, but maybe you've lost your fucking mind…" He stalked off in the direction of his room murmuring about how 'our family has too many fucking psychopaths ', leaving his brother alone in the living room. 'The one time I try to be serious with him he blows up at me,' Allan thought pitifully. A wave of rage passed over him and he screamed through clenched teeth and pursed lips. "Fuck you Matt!" He took off towards the door, but not without grabbing his bat first….

Allan tried to cool off from the fight, he really did. He went to the batting cages but accidentally hit the ball so hard it broke off the tip and now all that was left of the smooth, rounded top was a jagged mess. Still, he was fuming. As he walked down the street, he heard some teenagers fighting. He walked down the alley where the commotion was coming from. The first thing he noticed was the girls. They were everywhere, circling the yelling teens he heard everywhere. Every body type, every hair color. Each one had on a skirt that was so short it had to be illegal. He smirked slightly and noticed one girl in the corner with a smirk to match his own. She wore a skirt similar to the rest but instead of the tight tank tops the rest had on, she was in a crop top. Allan realized what this was immediately. 'They're all whores and the boys are fighting to see who gets the prize, the girl in the corner…' He scooted around the girls but not without slapping a few on the ass. They hardly noticed because they were so into the fight. As Allan approached the girl in the corner, she noticed him and her eyes dimmed. He ran a finger up her arm and laughed. "Hey angel, did it hurt when you fell from heaven?" Before she could say anything, his lips were pressed against hers and he slipped his tongue in as soon as she parted her lips. Just as his one of his hands snaked its way up her shirt, he felt something tug hard at the back of his jacket. He turned slowly and was facing the two boys that were fighting earlier. "What the hell do you think you're doing old man? She's 17, and what are you, like 25?" The smaller one snickered at his own comment. With the hand that wasn't grabbing the waistline of the girl's panties, he took his bat and smashed it into the young man's face. As the young girl writhed in pleasure next to him, he glared at the younger boys. The hand down her pants shot out and knocked the other in the face. "You started it by calling me old..," he whispered then kicked them both to the floor. He beat them with the bat until he couldn't feel their pulse under his boots that had been resting on either's neck. He dropped the bat and turned around. "Where were we?" By then all the other prostitutes had left. She quivered in fear, looking from his face to the 2 boys he just killed. She ran and screamed, leaving the alley. "I wasn't fucking done yet," he shook his head and grabbed her by the arm, yanking her back. He bit her lip enough to draw blood and pushed her to the floor….

Today was the day of his trial, and he sat in handcuffs on the leathery courthouse seat with a smug grin on his face. By the end of the day, he had been charged with 2 separate murders and attempted rape. Not to mention he was named clinically insane. He chuckled darkly to himself. 'Maybe I'll be put into the same asylum Ollie,' he hoped quietly that luck was on his side. It was declared that he would in fact be deported to the International Asylum. He silently praised himself for accomplishing such a big act of insanity. As he was loaded onto the small plane the next day, he hoped he would see his brother soon…


End file.
